Borage

by Gill McKnight

  “I’ll help you look.” She slung her bag onto her chair.

  Hefting a bag of sugar-glazed scones, she said, “You look like you need a coffee.” Even on her last day she had to bring goodies in. She was a Fireside witch, after all. These things were in her genes—and this office had a nice energy that she appreciated, when she wasn’t fixated on an imaginary critter hunt. She’d worked in enough crap places to know, and welcomed the difference. Black and Blacker looked after its people, even if it was inadvertently helping Magdalene Curdle misspend her coven’s pension fund.

  “I’d love a coffee. God, but yer a saint.” He nodded up the corridor, past the kitchen and the washrooms, to Abby’s office. “She’s in there now,” he said darkly.

  This discomfited Astral. Hesitantly, she headed along the corridor towards Abby’s mahogany office door, the one that thankfully never complied with the “open door policy.” Just short of it by several feet, she ducked into the kitchen.

  Boiling the kettle and arranging the cups, cream, and several sachets of sugar—Fergal had as sweet a tooth as she did—gave her time to consider what to do next. Perhaps if she poured enough coffee down his throat, she could do something shifty when he went to the loo? It was as good a plan as any. Nowhere in her scheme of things had she factored for Fergal actually being at work early.

  With a plate of scones, and balancing two coffee mugs in her other hand, she went back to her desk. Fergal abandoned the archive box he was thumbing through and grabbed his mug like it was a lifesaver. He proceeded to scoff down two scones, moan about his impending doom, and swallow his coffee in one scalding swig before excusing himself and trotting off to the washroom.

  Astral didn’t waste a second. Any minute now the elevators would start to disgorge fellow office workers en masse. She slipped the folder from her bag and rammed it into the back of the box Fergal was digging through. He would find it soon enough and no doubt blame some other sap for misfiling it.

  “Good morning, Ms Projector,” said an all-too familiar voice behind her. “Where’s Fergal?” From her tone, she was clearly displeased but she wasn’t sure if it was with Fergal or her.

  Astral moved away from the archive box on her knees. How embarrassing—though she’d missed being caught red-handed by mere seconds.

  Astral could feel the prickles all the way down her spine, along her arms, and goosefleshing along her thighs. Slowly, she used the desk to lever herself upright and turned to face Abby, braced for the unknown. Abby had called her by name, so she could assume the Cuckoo spell was working. The new problem was Astral had no idea if her sudden disappearance yesterday had registered. Spells used tricky logic. For the umpteenth time, she wished she’d paid more attention at school.

  “He’s gone to the bathroom,” she said, carefully avoiding eye contact, her gaze steady on the top button of Abby’s crisp white shirt. Then she realised the top button had popped and she was in effect staring at an inch of boss-lady cleavage. Astral swerved her gaze to lock on the vase of flowers on the console table by the elevators.

  “I see. Has he found that file yet?” Abby snapped, seemingly unaware of Astral’s discomfort, or more likely used to it from her employees.

  Astral waved a hand vaguely at the carnage around them. “I don’t think so. I’m helping him look.”

  She looked like she was going to respond when Fergal chose that moment to return, and Abby’s focus lasered on him while Astral took advantage and escaped to the washroom. When she came back, Abby had gone, and Fergal was on his knees ploughing through the archive boxes looking more distressed than ever.

  Astral pulled out an archive box of her own and proceeded to thumb through it, certain Fergal would come across the missing file soon enough. She was rewarded less than a minute later.

  “Saints be to heaven!” He sprang to his feet waving the folder above his head. “I found it!”

  “What was it doing in there?” Astral asked pointing out the year scrawled across the box lid.

  “Whatsherface, the one before you, must have misfiled it.” Fergal scuttled towards Abby’s office.

  Astral gave a contented puff. Magdalene Curdle’s file was back where it belonged, and all was as it should be. She had lucked out. Abby may not have recognised her as anything other than a nameless temporary employee, but that meant the Cuckoo spell gave her the luxury of a more relaxed exit. She’d duck out when there were enough staff on the floor for her to withdraw unnoticed.

  Relieved, she began to stack away the archive boxes, giving Fergal’s disembowelled desk the wither-eye. He could fix his own mess.

  More staff arrived on the floor. The working day had begun, and Astral was secretly gleeful hers was coming to an end and she’d be getting the Hecate out of there. No more adventures for her—ever. Fergal could keep his ill-gotten gains, since he wasn’t smart enough to get away with it for long. And Ping could sneak off to the ninth floor to keep Abby’s cougar, alligator, or whatever exotic pet she had, as happy as any vicious animal could be without tearing into living flesh. Astral was done with this crazy caper and all the crazies who came along with it. She had completed her mission and discovered the critter, which turned out to be her own High Priestess. Once the coven saw the contract, Magdalene was history.

  Astral began clearing her desk. The first thing she put her hand on was a manila folder. It had a red V.I.P. label that read “Magdalene Curdle.” Astral stared at it blankly. Hadn’t Fergal just taken this along to Abby’s office? She nipped over to his side and dumped the offending folder there, it practically burned her fingers to touch it. Another V.I.P. manila folder lay on his desktop. Magdalene Curdle.

  Astral scooped it up and flicked through the contents comparing it to the one in her hand. They were identical. Surely, he hadn’t the time to make a copy? Her mouth went dry. She stepped back and her heel punched through a folder lying on the carpet behind her. She picked it up. Magdalene Curdle.

  I am but a simp— Oh, crap on a broomstick. This was magic. Errant, pain-in-the-ass magic, and it had popped up at the worst possible time.

  Astral grabbed her mobile phone and moved away for privacy. “Dulcie?” she said the minute the call was picked up.

  “Are you all right?” Dulcie zoned in on her vibe immediately.

  “Magdalene’s folder is duplicating all over the office.”

  A fourth folder appeared on the windowsill beside her even as a holler came from across the office. “Anyone lost this?” Someone waved a manila file. “The name on it is Curdle. Anyone?”

  “Did you hear that? There’s another one. What can be doing this?” she whispered. “Should I run?”

  “Um.” The gallop of Dulcie’s thinking was practically audible. “How many copies did you make?”

  “Seven, so far.” What a strange question. “One for each member of the Upper Council.”

  “And how many have turned up there, do you know?” Dulcie asked.

  “One, two…five! So far, five.”

  “Okay. I think I know what this is,” Dulcie said, and her tone eased a little. Astral found her stomach muscles easing with it. “The Projector magic is ridding your house of anything Magdalene related. It’s returning all the copies to the point of origin, namely Black and Blacker.”

  “We’re losing all our evidence,” Astral squeaked.

  “Looks like it. I’m coming over. Once I’m onsite I’ll know a little better what to do. Meanwhile, can you collect all the copies and hold onto them somehow? We need to take away as many as we can.”

  “Okay. Please hurry.” She hung up and set to finding the rest of the files.

  *

  By nine thirty, the coffee crowd had plundered her scones and Astral’s bag bulged with all seven copies of Magdalene’s file, and there was still no sign of Dulcie.

  “These are fantastic. Astral, will ye marry me and bake for me every day?” One of the lads from Fergal’s old team popped the last bite of scone in his mouth, a trail of crumbs tracking dow
n the front of his shirt.

  “Thanks for the offer, Dougie, but my heart belongs to another.” Astral smiled at the little white lie, though inexplicably, an image of Abby popped into her head. She went back to her desk, where a small crowd had gathered. Her pace slowed. Had her larceny been found out? Had the folders snuck out of her bag to incriminate her? What if the desk drawers were full of cakes again? She felt physically sick. Simple girl be damned. I have to get out of here.

  “There she is,” Ping called, and the crowd pulled back to reveal Dulcie at its centre with a self-satisfied smile and the biggest bouquet Astral had ever seen.

  “Special delivery,” Ping said in a happy singsong voice. “Someone has an admirer.”

  The boys of Fergal’s old team picked up her cue and launched a chorus of wolf whistles that drew even more attention. Astral’s evident embarrassment only added to the merriment.

  “Where shall I put these?” Dulcie asked, matching Ping’s chirpy tone as she plonked the flowers on Astral’s desk. “It’s all I could think of to get in the building, play along,” she whispered for Astral’s ears only.

  “Gee, thanks. These are beautiful,” Astral said, taking Dulcie’s cue.

  “Did you get all the folders?” Dulcie hissed and made a show of primping her blossoms. “These really need a vase,” she said loudly.

  “I’ll get one.” Ping disappeared towards the kitchen.

  “Who’s the lucky feller, then?” Fergal smiled slyly and gave her a lewd wink. “You’ve broken poor wee Dougie’s heart.” Amid much laughter, Dougie slid from his chair clutching his chest.

  “They smell divine.” Ping was back with a huge water pitcher for a temporary vase. She stuck her nose into the bouquet. “Is there a card?”

  Much to Astral’s mortification, more people began to drift over, glad of a mid-morning distraction. How the Hecate were she and Dulcie supposed to sneak out of this throng? Dulcie’s placid smile gave the impression everything was under control, so Astral did as she was told and acted the blushing recipient of a lover’s gift. Soon, several people had their noses stuck in the blooms complimenting their scent, and Astral wished she might get flowers like this for real, from a real lover—

  “Okay, let’s go.” Dulcie’s hiss pulled her attention back from daydreams. “I’ve brought a charm for the files that gives you temporary ownership. It’s in the flower food packet, just tear it open and let it loose and I’ll do the enchantment under my breath.”

  Astral nodded. This was the tricky part. Her heart rat-a-tatted like a snare drum in a jazz club.

  “This sachet is full of plant food,” Dulcie announced and handed it to Astral. Ping handed her scissors. Astral slowly cut the sachet open and squeezed out the powder. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dulcie’s lips begin to move.

  “What’s going on here, Ms Ping?” A stony voice with a frosty undertone demanded. Abby stood at the rear of the crowd. The laughter and chatter stopped at once. People melted back to their desks in double time. Even Fergal grabbed some papers and scuttled off to Dividends, desperately trying to look busy. Ping, Dulcie, and Astral stood shielded behind the huge flower arrangement. Abby eyed it with evident displeasure.

  “Astral got flowers,” Ping said, quite unnecessarily. “Aren’t they lovely?” she babbled nervously. Abby was in a bad mood and all her staff knew it. Beside her, Astral could feel Dulcie withdraw slightly, attempting to fade into the beige-walled background. Astral bit her lip, hoping Dulcie wasn’t going to do masking magic.

  “She’s got an admirer.” Ping hadn’t the sense to shut up, and Abby’s lips thinned. She pressed a thick dossier into Ping’s arms, which the receptionist hugged to her chest like plate mail.

  “Has she, now.” Abby’s gaze locked with Astral’s.

  I am but a simple girl. I am—

  Abby’s irises glinted beneath her dark lashes. A spike of— was that jealousy?—dug at Astral and her stomach cramped. Jealousy? From Abby? What was happening? She held Abby’s gaze for longer than what might have been appropriate and a few things dawned on her. Abby Black was a clever woman and, Astral now realised, a sly one, too. With a crystal clear flash of intuition, Astral knew that despite Cuckoo spells, Mindcoddles, mirroring charms—magic be damned—Abby did remember. She remembered London, the train ride, the kiss. Abby remembered everything.

  And the realisation chilled her to the bone.

  *

  “Your boss is terrifying.” Dulcie heaved a breath as the elevator doors slid shut on floor thirteen. Her blonde curls looked fluffier than normal, indicating trauma. Astral busied herself in the elevator’s mirrored walls, tidying her own frizz.

  Ping had disappeared with the dossier, leaving Astral to grab her bag and escort Dulcie out of the building. Very opportune.

  “If I believed in critters, she’d be my first choice,” Dulcie added.

  “I thought that, too, at first, but she’s just genuinely scary.” Among other, more pleasant things. Astral was still confused about the jealousy she had detected from her and the fact that this whole time, Abby Black seemed to have known quite a bit more than she had let on.

  “Well, kudos to you for getting close enough to kiss her. I’d rather tummy tickle a great white shark.”

  “That wasn’t me, that was magic.” She changed the subject, not yet wanting to share that she suspected their spells hadn’t worked on Abby at all. That was a conundrum for another time. Now they still had to walk out of this building with an armful of stolen Magdalene Curdle contracts. Best to focus on that little problem first.

  “There’s the key slot I told you about.” Astral pointed out the keyhole for floor nine in the chrome panel.

  Dulcie looked at it with interest. “So, what did you do?”

  “Just this.” She pressed her fingertip against it. There came a soft grinding noise, as if the elevator was changing gears, then it started to slow. Overhead number nine lit up on the floor panel. “It happened again,” Astral said, both awed and appalled.

  “Extraordinary.” Dulcie flicked a glance around the mirrored compartment.

  “Can you see a renegade Projector signature?” Astral asked.

  Dulcie snorted a negative and the doors slid open onto floor nine.

  It was exactly as Astral remembered, dimly lit and hushed, with the office doors shut, and an air of stillness that confirmed no one worked here. Shoulder to shoulder, they stepped cautiously out of the elevator. The doors quietly slid closed behind them.

  “Which door has the animal behind it?” Dulcie asked in barely a whisper.

  “The last one on the right, on the corner.”

  “Okay, let’s see what makes all that snuffling.” Dulcie headed down the hall. Astral followed nervously, buoyed along by Dulcie’s bravado. They drew level with the first door on the left, and Astral stopped. She tapped Dulcie on the shoulder.

  “Ping went in here,” she said. “She had a bag.”

  “A bag?”

  “Yes. I thought it was funny. Not the bag. I mean, I thought it was funny because she had told me no one had a key to this floor except Abby, and then she shows up with a key and a bag. I mean, if it’s only a storage floor, then why lie about it?”

  Dulcie examined the door. “It looks pretty ordinary to me. Want to take a look?” She tried the handle and it turned easily. “It’s open.” The door swung ajar on a room in total darkness.

  “It was locked before. Ping had the key on a lanyard around her neck.” Astral peered over Dulcie’s shoulder. Hesitantly pushing her friend before her, they both entered.

  “I’ll find the light switch.” Astral moved her hand along the wall by the door.

  “Shush,” Dulcie hissed. “Do you hear that?”

  “What?” Astral whispered back, her hand still.

  “Listen.” Dulcie’s hiss had taken on an uneasy urgency that Astral didn’t like. Then she heard it. A soft slithering and a rattle.

  “Oh.” Every hair on the back of her n
eck rose to attention. “What was that?” she breathed in Dulcie’s ear. Was it a snake? She hated snakes. “Please, Hecate, don’t let it be a snake,” she whispered.

  “A snake?” Dulcie squeaked, though it was a quiet squeak. She stiffened.

  The slithering continued, softly, then a little louder. And then came multiple slitherings. Multiple snakes? The sounds were definitely coming towards them. Dulcie backed up and bumped into Astral, who was rooted to the spot with panic glue.

  “Find the light switch.” Dulcie sounded equally panicky. “If I can see, maybe I can stop whatever it is.” She raised her hands, ready to dispense magic like a ninja.

  Astral’s fingers clawed crazily around the wall until she palmed the light switch. “Found it.”

  The room around them exploded into bright fluorescent light and they froze in abject horror. There were no snakes. The sickly slithering was something else entirely. Teeth. Tons and tons of teeth. Heaps of them. Mountains of them. Mountains of precariously piled human teeth. Tooth mountains tottered above them to the left and to the right, up to the ceiling, slithering, sliding, ever-evolving via small avalanches into troughs, and gullies, and up again into more peaks. Reforming, reshaping, edging closer. Enamel skittered, scattered, cascaded, and moved softly in a relentless undercurrent.

  “Oh, Hecate,” Dulcie whispered. “It’s a charnel house.”

  “A what?”

  “An ossuary.”

  “A what?”

  “Run.” Dulcie elbowed Astral in the gut and pushed her backwards as a teetering tower collapsed and avalanched rapidly towards them. Astral shrieked and dragged Dulcie into the corridor by her collar, tripping on her own heels and tipping them both onto the floor. A tide of teeth flowed after them, swilling around their feet and legs, seething at them like a heinous living thing. Astral choked back a scream and kicked her feet free. They shuffled awkwardly backwards on their backsides until they slammed against the wall opposite.